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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363715">Young Gods</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstyamy/pseuds/angstyamy'>angstyamy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pedro Pascal - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Injury, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, God Complex, Hurt/Comfort, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, Reader Insert, Redemption, Romance, dio has lots of issues he doesn't even know about, nypd blue - Freeform, reader - Freeform, reader is infatuated but doesn't wanna deal with his shit, religious trauma, second-person, you - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:42:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstyamy/pseuds/angstyamy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You weren't looking for anything when you met Dio, but you also couldn't take your eyes off of him. You were drawn to him, shrouded in black mystery and his softer side he kept well hidden under that duster. A part of you knew when you first saw him, he was destined to fly too close to the sun. At first, it wasn't really anything he said or anything he did. It was the feeling that came along with him. You'd never felt this way before, and the crazy thing is, you didn't know if you should. You knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright, but...how can the Devil be pulling you towards someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you? Maybe he knew that when he met you, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Shane "Dio" Morrissey/Reader, Shane "Dio" Morrissey/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Young Gods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>firstly i'd like to give a quick warning that there's some harassment at the end of this chapter as well as a brief use of the f slur, so if that bothers you i'd advise against reading! second, i apologize if it's not the most gripping, starting a project is always the most difficult part of it and i wanted to set up a little backstory/backdrop first. i hope you enjoy and i look forward to seeing your feedback!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dio didn’t have much to bring with him on the day he took you up on your offer to live with you in your small New York City apartment; small, albeit big enough for two. He carried almost all of his earthly possessions with him in his pockets — the keys to his father’s ancient, barely running Honda, a pack of cigarettes, loose cash and change, and his trusty switch. The rest would have to be crammed into his car and hauled over, mostly consisting of clothes and shoes, thrifted or stolen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I was wonderin’ when you’d rescue me from the Smack Shack,” he’d quipped, lips curling.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “The Smack Shack” is what he’d dubbed the worn-down, abandoned place he and his buddies — all of them pursuers of a list of drugs, some of them sellers like Dio — often crashed in when a softer, more secure sofa couldn’t be reserved for the night. Thus, The Smack Shack. You’d visited a handful of times despite the fact that it gave you the creeps. Dio had your trust, as did…some of his friends. The neighborhood just wasn’t the safest in Manhattan, needless to say, and there was no guessing what shady characters were looming about in these hollowed out homes. You’re just glad he’s out of there. And with you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ohh, I rescued you, huh?” You’d teased back, your voice lilting in a sing-song tone. “I must be your knight in shining armor.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He hummed in the back of his throat with a mock grimace, leaning forward to kiss you. “Don’t make me sick, birdie.” His lips were chapped and tasted of smoke, and as much as you detested the habit, it was something so purely Dio. A smirk played on his lips upon pulling back with decorated fingers idly tapping out a rhythm onto a tabletop of a squat little sandwich shop you worked at. “I seem to remember things differently.” Expectant, he cocked his head, casting a shadow of his star-shaped earring onto his neck -- one of many, many things that endeared you to the boy in black.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As if on cue, you turned sheepish with a duck of your head and a bashful smile cast downwards. He was referring to the day you two first met. Officially, that is. Along with the thrill of waitressing and constructing sandwiches, you worked behind a cash register at a record shop -- Empire Records. Music’s always been a constant comfort for you, in your ears when you needed a voice to scream your sorrows, your rampages or your little victories. You’d amassed quite the collection of records as you grew and your music taste with you for a player you’d fixed up and obtained from a seller when on the hunt for more important things like furniture and necessities to fill your then new apartment. You didn’t consider yourself to be one of those douchey vinyl connoisseurs, but you liked the place well enough. It was only a matter of time before you noticed the tall, dark, handsome boy who’d frequent the place without buying anything. He’d stick to the Industrial Rock or Post-Punk ailes and he definitely looked the type, decked head to toe in grungey black attire, adorned with silver jewelry and chains. Every so often the two of you would lock eyes, make slightly painful small talk about whatever was playing through the speakers. You even inquired once if he’d learned your shift schedule with how often he’d appear when you were working, and, leaning suavely on his elbows before you, he’d replied:</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t. That all depends...would you think I was a creep if I said yes?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps a normal individual would confirm this, but you had to admit the guy was cute. Okay, he was </span>
  </em>
  <span>hot </span>
  <em>
    <span>with his dark eyes lined in black, brow piercing and air of confidence. So you smiled and shook your head. Dio smiled back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You recall during one of your early morning shifts, Dio asked for your coffee order, motioning to the cup in your hands. You gave it to him and he advised against grabbing your morning coffee the next time it was scheduled on your calendar. With curiosity, you obliged and on that day and each day after, in he strolled with your cup in one hand, his in the other. So you carried on like that for a while, chatting over coffee, much to the dismay of your manager.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your boyfriend’s a distraction,” she’d remarked one day. “And a loiterer. I don’t care how dreamy he is, he can’t keep hanging around here if he’s not gonna buy anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Admittedly, that caused your heart to sink a little. Yeah, you understood her frustration from a business perspective, but despite not even knowing this guy’s name, his gloomy presence brightened your otherwise dull work days.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When you transferred your manager’s message, Dio issued a breath of...disappointment? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t believe in money,” came his confession, almost hardly classifying as one what with how casually it was delivered. He chuckled at your raised brow. “Everyone’s a slave to these meaningless pieces of paper and metal, even </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.</span>
  <em>
    <span>” A nail painted black pointed at you. “If I want something, nine times outta ten, I’ll find my own way to get it. Seems a little fucked up to </span>
  </em>
  <span>work </span>
  <em>
    <span>for the essentials for survival, don’t you think?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For a moment, you sat with this new information. Yeah, it </span>
  </em>
  <span>was </span>
  <em>
    <span>a little fucked up to fork over hard-earned cash for things like basic needs, but how else was someone expected to live? Mulling it over, you sipped your coffee, once again brought by him. You shot Mr. No-Name-Kid a knowing look. “Am I drinking stolen coffee?” Your smirk couldn’t hide from him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dio only laughed. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>One night as you closed up shop, you were disheartened at the absence of a certain trench coat clad “customer” in the store that day. You couldn’t place where this was coming from. After all, the two of you were only..what? Acquaintances at most? Names hadn’t even been exchanged, and yet you found yourself scanning the streets outside for any sight of him at the door; reminded of his face when bands like The Cure filled the shop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your sigh deflated you as you dug for your keys in your bag -- both to lock up and for your car. It was whatever. This guy had a life too and was under no obligation to visit you as you worked.  You turned the key to Empire Records, locking it shut and gave the doors a pull to be sure, Yup. All good. Nodding to yourself, you turned to locate your car in the lot next door. The night was brisk, pushing past the fabric of your cardigan as you walked an empty sidewalk. Under the glow of buzzing streetlights and neon business signs, you tugged it closer to you. The work day was dwindling, at least on this street, cars every so often rolling past. You’re about halfway to the car park when your ears catch a second pair of footsteps behind you. Your lips and spirits lift with the hope that they might belong to the heavy boots of Dio after all and you turn to greet him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nice night, huh?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This guy’s not Dio. His hoodie covers shaggy chestnut hair, hands in his front pocket as he trudges along. This dude reeks of weed and booze. You ignore him and continue on your path.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not a talker. Got it. Listen, honey, you don’t gotta clam up around me, I’m a swell guy. I’ll walk ya’ to your car, that’s where you’re goin’, right?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jaw clenched, you ball your cool hands into fists at your sides, keeping your car key poking out from between your fingers should this douche not get the hint. “I don’t need an escort, thanks.” Your reply is sharp, eyes remaining en route. Other than that, you try your damndest to ease calm through your body. Tempting as it is to dash to the safety of your vehicle, you’re not about to put any fear on display for him. You’re okay. Breathe. The lot’s less than a block away now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then a hand snakes its way around your waist. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“C’mon, baby, ‘m just tryn’a be a gentleman. Isn’t that what broads want?” His breath is rancid in your nose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You jerk away, shooting daggers. “Offer declined, now leave me alone.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you pick up the pace with your destination in sight. You don’t make it far before you’re jerked back by fingers at your forearm that tug forcefully. The bastard opens his mouth to spew more drovel, but you don’t give him the chance to speak. Screwing up your face, you reel your arm back and jab him with your key in the ribs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pain sputters through his lips. No skin was broken (unfortunately), but he’s stumbled back a few paces and grabs where you’d struck him. “You bitch!” He spits, his glare glassy. “Fuck’s your problem?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re halted by a chilling mixture of fear and shock at your own actions, snapping out of it when the drunk stranger lunges forward. No time is wasted in absolutely fucking booking it now. He may be hammered, but you’re taking no chances. You pay no attention to the string of swears and slurs from behind you and finally reach your car. The vibrations in your hands make unlocking the door difficult, and glancing up you can see your pursuer drunkenly heading toward you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck!” You cry. “Stupid fucking--!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If I were you I’d stop right there, you piece of shit.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The familiar voice that hadn’t been there prior snaps your head up, scanning the darkness to catch Dio crossing the street looking more menacing than you’ve ever seen him. You could get in your car and peel out of there right now, but you’re frozen in place watching the scene unfold.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your attacker finds his way to his feet again, looking dumbfounded at the character who’s walked onto the scene. “Who -- who the fuck’re you?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You catch a smirk on Dio’s lips under flickering streetlights. “That all depends on what your next move is, jagoff.” He looks pissed as all hell, though there’s a layer of calm to his words that stirs your stomach. Dio now stands in front of the other with his hands in leather pockets, like he’s provoking him. He’s always exuded this...intimidating aura, clad in all black and chains but you’ve never seen this side of him in action. Maybe now is a bad time to come to this realization, but you have to admit: it’s sexy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh that’s, ‘s cute,” Mumbles the brunette guy, snickering. “‘S this your boyfriend comin’ to the rescue? Looks like a fuckin’ faggot if I’ve ever seen--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dio’s boot to this guy’s crotch cuts him off in the middle of his “insult” and he crumples to the concrete with a groan; if that isn’t enough, Dio lands a second kick to his temple.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You can only stand there lamely with your jaw agape and watch him swagger over after he just knocked a dude in the nuts. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry I was late,” he says smoothly. “I was in a meeting. You alright?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupidly, you blink at him in the low light. “I--um...I’m…” Real nice. You shake your head to jumpstart your brain. “Yeah, I-I’m okay. I’m good. Thanks. Really.” So he’d come to see you after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dio nods, appearing grateful to hear you’re unharmed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You two begin to speak at the same time and chuckle in unison. He falls silent, ushering you to continue. You look your rescuer in the face, unable to swallow a smile. You’d missed those eyes, seeming so warm in the cool of the night. “So, do I get to know the name of my savior?” You prod.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He laughs once, low in his throat. “Dio.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
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